Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 220
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 215301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1077(@200wpm)___ 861(@250wpm)___ 718(@300wpm)
“You might want to hide that…” I twirl a finger toward my own neck, then grab the edge of his chair and slide him closer to me. Lifting the collar of his metallic leather jacket, I hide the pink flush. “There’s no blushing in the tundra, nepo baby.”
“Maybe we need to hide your whole face then.” He palms my face, taking the risk of smearing the metallic streaks painted down my cheeks.
“Oh my gosh!” Michelle, the makeup artist, bounds over with stressed eyes. “No, no, absolutely no touching. Please.”
Tom winces and drops his hand off me. “Sorry.”
Michelle lets out a relieved breath, seeing he didn’t mess up the makeup. She returns to her huddle.
Tom’s eyes go wide. “This whole thing feels cursed, dude. We’re doing a music video, and they put the album on presale when we haven’t finished all the songs yet.”
“We’re almost done,” I remind him. “We have eleven recorded songs and only one left to write.”
He cringes like we’re not close, but he’s obsessing over this last song like it needs to top all the others. Which isn’t true. It just needs to cohesively fit within the album.
I grip the back of his chair. “Hey,” I say. “They just want to release this single fast, and they think a long presale is a good idea. We don’t have a say in the timeline, man.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. He scrutinizes the set warily, then the silver makeup spread across the vanity, then me. He takes a deeper inhale when he meets my reassurance. “It’s dumb, right? People dream of this.” He gestures to the professional set design. It’s bigger-than-average but modest in comparison to mega pop stars.
I nod to him. “Riot is spending some money on us, but there’s a fuck ton of pressure that comes with that too, especially when we don’t know how we’ll sell. Okay, I feel it. You’re not alone in this, Tom.”
He nods back, and his hand falls to my leg subconsciously. I place my palm on his in comfort, only for a short second. I sort of push him off the same time he retracts his hand. It doesn’t hurt any less knowing he pulled back too.
Tom admits, “I just wish we could control the timeline of everything.”
“Ditto.” Honestly, I’m thunderstruck at just how much creative control Riot has relinquished to Tom already. That was apparently a ginormous stipulation Tom made when he signed with the label, and he only had leverage to negotiate because three other labels were fighting to sign him, Jeremy told me.
For the music video we’re filming today, we’d been invited to the pre-production meetings. Most of the ideas they’re rolling with are ours.
It’s fucking wild.
Nothing Personal wasn’t even able to choose the wardrobe for their music videos, and I had to listen to Birdie complain for an entire year about how they wouldn’t let him go shirtless for “Tragic Hold.”
“My abs would sell records. That’s all I’m saying, man,” he whined.
I am currently shirtless, and there was a big discussion at the meeting about what I’d be wearing today. When the producer asked me how realistic it’d be to have me nearly naked in a frozen tundra, I told him, “My abs will sell records.”
I did that for Bird.
I was ready for more pushback, but none came.
Michelle returns with Caden. Body paint argument settled, they work on the finishing touches to our makeup. Tom is completely absorbed in his AirPods and mouths the lyrics to the song. He spent most of last night doing the same thing. Since he’ll be lip-syncing during the music video, he’s been stressed about how natural it’ll look. He wants it to be perfect.
Overpreparing is also definitely in his DNA.
Me, on the other hand, I chug a Lightning Bolt! energy drink and try to push out the thoughts of beats, fills, and patterns. If I start running through it step-by-step in my head, I’m more likely to mess up when I’m behind the kit. I just need to stay in the pocket and I’ll be fine.
They position Tom on set first, and I hang back while they paint across my skin. The metallic sheen is almost translucent.
A blond guy named Fitz sidles next to Michelle, a walkie-talkie in his grip. “He almost ready?” he nods to me.
“Just one more coat.” Michelle flicks her makeup brush along the curve of my abs.
“Danny says we’ll need to bring in more fake snow,” Fitz tells her, then scrutinizes me one more time. I pretend like I’m not listening, especially since I wear earbuds. But no music is playing. So yeah, he’s not having a private conversation in front of me. “Tom Cobalt gets what Tom Cobalt wants, right?”
My muscles flex. Fuck him. I glower ahead of me and not at him, trying to remain as professional as possible.